


Something

by Rioviolina



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 06:09:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11224947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioviolina/pseuds/Rioviolina
Summary: Ringo's thoughts on sharing a room with Paul





	Something

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of fluff for Paul's 75th birthday.

Ringo's p.o.v.

We'd just arrived at the hotel we were to stay at tonight. Run the gauntlet of press and fans, and was looking forward to freshening up before we had a press conference followed by a concert to do. Feeling a bit knackered, y'know? Fancied a quick drink and a ciggie before we were off again. I hung by George, cos that's what I do. We've sort of got used to being together. The great Lennon and McCartney, as me an' George jokingly refer to 'em, are a few feet ahead of us down the hotel corridor, joined at the hip as usual.  
That's when the bombshell dropped.  
"Paul, you and Ringo are sharing tonight. Suits are already in your room. Just get yourselves changed ready to go in an hour, please. Same for you two, John and George. Mal has the keys...."  
That was Brian, our manager.  
Well, I could tell from the look on John's face that this was completely unexpected. Paul, too, although he quickly covered it up, cos he's good at that sort of thing. Shoulda been a spy.  
John went to argue, but I noticed Paul give him a quick nudge and a meaningful glance...maybe I shoulda been a spy too!! 

With a wry grin at one another, George and I split. I headed across to Paul, who was fiddling with the keys that Mal had given him. He flashed me a smile.  
I liked Paul..liked him very much. When I'd first joined the group, he'd gone out of his way to make me feel at home. I'll never forget that. He also acts as a barrier between John and the rest of us. He certainly takes some shit from Lennon. 

Finally, Paul gets the door open. As I squeeze past him I sense, rather than see, him throw a glance in John's direction. I wonder why Brian has made this unusual decision to pair us up differently? Anyway...not my business, I'm just here to play the drums.

Paul indicates the bathroom. "Y' wanna go first??"  
He's being polite. I can tell he wants to really. Paul gets bored easily. Always has to be doing something. Rarely do I see him sit still.

"Nah..go ahead, mate, I'm okay."  
Paul disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later I heard the sound of running water. I hunted the mini bar, poured meself a glass of scotch, lit a cigarette, and sat down thankfully on the one easy chair the room possessed. The chair was positioned near to the door, and facing the two single beds. It was the typical, nondescript hotel room...they all looked the same to me, particularly after nearly two years on the road.

Paul emerged from the bathroom, drying his hair with a white towel. He'd got a matching towel slung round his narrow hips. He nodded at me, then seemed to promptly forget I was there. A distant look came into his eyes, and I could hear him humming quietly to himself. He ambled over to one of the beds, dropped both towels onto the floor, exposing his long, slim body, and with cat-like grace stretched out on one of the beds. He reached across, fumbling for a match, and lit a cigarette. He blew the smoke upwards, towards the ceiling, his dark eyes miles away. I found myself glued to his actions, I couldn't look away. There was something very magnetising about him. He held the cigarette in his left hand, and with his right hand absent mindedly played with his soft dick. I couldn't but help notice the thick, black curls, the line of dark hair running from his navel. He smoked, he played, I watched.  
I think Paul had forgotten I was there. He was completely in a world of his own, long, slim white legs fully stretched out, elegant and desultory.

When Paul finished smoking, he swung his legs off the bed, stood up and stretched his arms into the air. I couldn't help but admire the perfect physique, the long legs, the perfectly proportioned body. He glided...yes, glided!...over to the wardrobe where our suits hung, and my eyes followed him, unblinking. He reached for a pair of clean underpants, and slowly, slowly slipped them on, easing them over his manhood, and settling them on his slim hips. With equal grace, difficult to achieve when balancing on one leg, he pulled a black sock over each high-arched foot, wiggling his toes before standing back up. He then began putting on his shirt. I slid lower in my chair, partly because I was finding my trousers seemed to be getting tighter, and partly to enjoy this reverse pornographic show that Paul was inadvertently providing me with.

He slipped his shirt on, and began to button it. Each button was attended to by long, slender, caressing fingers. Not one button gave difficulty. He reached for his trousers, each long leg carefully encased in black, delicately tucked his shirt in, and pulled up the zipper. I licked my lips, which were getting dry. Lastly, the tie. A slim, elegant piece of navy silk slipping through his fingers. No rush doing this. It was approached with the same, deliberate, almost sexual caress every other item of clothing had received. Finally, he slipped his feet into his black boots. I felt a pang of loss that such an exquisite body should be hidden under clothes. How the hell could Lennon stand this everyday?? It was like watching a sex show. I'm amazed John ever manages to walk out of their shared room if this is what he is subject to all the time.

Am I drooling? I'm still sitting here, scotch not drunk,   
cigarette burnt down to nothing. At no time had Paul made any reference to the fact I'm here, watching him. Watching him? No, change that...absolutely fascinated by him.

Now, though, he's right by me. About to go out the door.  
He pauses, door ajar, and looks at me sitting here like some stupid, starstruck idiot.

"Y'okay, Richie?" he enquires. "We've gotta go soon. Better get ready, son!"

I look at him. Meet his eyes. The bastard knows. I can see it in the depths of his eyes. He knows what he's just done.

Get ready? I'm not sure I can move!!

Next time, I'm sharing with George.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Paulie


End file.
